Chapter 24

"Come now, Frodo my lad, it's time you greeted the morning. It will be disappearing before too long."

His uncle's voice brought Frodo out of the restless dreams he had been in the midst of; for the past several days now his thoughts had been aimed at the Shire, towards Bag End and home. His dreams often found him on the Road, always on his way back but never managing to crest that final hill, but this last night had shown him something quite different. He shook his head free of the sounds of crashing waves and sat up in the bed. Bilbo had already risen for the day and by the looks of it had been so for several hours, and the smells of second breakfast was heady. His growling stomach reminded him rather forcefully why he rarely slept in this late, and Frodo climbed down to start his day.

"Good morning, Uncle," he said with a smile, giving Bilbo a quick hug, "and happy birthday."

"Good morning to you, too, my lad—and happy birthday!" He accepted his nephew's kiss on the cheek and hummed a little as he started to plate up their meal—practically elevensies for Bilbo, but of course Frodo's first. It was rare that he allowed the tween to sleep so late what with the lessons and walks that Bilbo frequently Frodo partake in, but this was their Birthday. Frodo, for his part, eyed his uncle carefully as he started in on his meal of cheese and meat and fruits, and he was pleased to note how much better Bilbo seemed. It had taken him nearly thirty minutes to calm his uncle from his anger and frustration, and even then it had taken nearly an hour before anything was said about it.

'I am sorry, my lad. I never meant for you to be drawn into their rumors and mean spirits. You shouldn't have to be afraid living in your own home.'

'I'm not afraid of stepping out of Bag End, Uncle. You fought too hard and long to get me there—I'm not going to leave you now.'

This assurance, more than anything else, had calmed Bilbo most and the dark turn seemed to pass; and although Frodo still harbored some trepidation when it came to his uncle's dour moods, he was oddly pleased too. It was clear that what Thorin and Kili told him was correct—he did have some control over how these moments would turn out. For almost ten years Frodo had been the forgotten ward of Brandy Hall; not forgotten, no, because Uncle Sara and Aunt Esme had tried their hardest to love him and give him a family, but it wasn't the same. The memories he had of his mum and dad were still painfully clear and he'd been too old at twelve to readily forget what a normal family felt like after they'd drowned. Anyway, his aunt and uncle had been busy overseeing the Hall since Uncle Rory's health had started to fail, and they'd found it difficult to balance their time between so many aspects of daily living.

He hadn't wanted another mum and dad, though, anyway.

Moving into Bag End—his family's birthright and the envy of Bywater—had been the most exhilarating mix of fear and elation that he had ever felt, and he'd struggled for weeks to find his place in his eccentric uncle's home. Bilbo was eccentric, no doubt about that, but in Frodo's opinion it only made his uncle more interesting; even before they had run across the Dwarves of Erebor he had been in awe of the elder Baggins. He was a self-taught scholar, his tales were whimsical and a delight to listen to, he had learned Elvish, and he had connections. Connections not only to the heads of the Families in the Shire, but beyond the Borders as well.

He had simply never realized how important, even though he had had some inkling that Bilbo was someone special.

"Uncle Bilbo," he said now, munching slowly on a slice of apple, "you still haven't told me where we'll be having our Party at."

"And it will remain a surprise for now, my lad," Bilbo replied easily, looking back at him with a fond eye. "Unless you want to take a look around and see if perhaps you can't figure it out for yourself."

Frodo straightened in his seat, his interest piqued. "What will I get if I can do that?"

His uncle's smile widened. "Oh ho, so you're prepared to deal with real stakes, then?" He was truly delighted by his lad's initiative with such a challenge—it showed how much Frodo had listened to his lessons of bargaining and haggling. "I'll give you two mathoms this year if you can figure it out, my lad—and three helpings of mushrooms with dinner."

"Make it six helpings of mushrooms and you'll have a deal."

"You drive a hard bargain, Master Baggins. Don't forget that we'll have guests who will want to sup their fill as well tonight—I'll offer you five."

"Five and a spoonful."

Cheeky little tween. Primula had been her own brand of mischief growing up in Buckland, and Frodo had inherited her smile and sense of humor even if his looks were his father's through and through. Bilbo had often found it difficult to say no to her and it wasn't any different with her son. Besides, Frodo had done a decent job at negotiating. "All right, you rascal," he chuckled, "five helpings and a spoonful. You have four hours before the Party starts to go and find out where it's to be held—and no going to the Company for help. They want this to be as much as a surprise as I do."

Excited by both the deal and the challenge, Frodo quickly worked at polishing off what remained of his first breakfast; maybe he could sneak down to the kitchens later for more and try to overhear anything about the Party there. Nori had told him that was the best way of picking up information; by simply being still and observing one could learn just about anything in the right company.

But as he left their quarters and went on his way, he began to doubt his idea. Uncle was always stressing the importance of finding out for oneself the information available. Was listening and overhearing when it was just as easy to go searching a cheat?

On his way down the main corridor, he saw the tall figure of the Ranger walking in the opposite direction; of Gandalf there was no sign. The pang of disgust he felt at the thought of Aragorn's name caused his stomach to turn guiltily, because Thorin was right. Hate and distrust had no place in a heart when it was aimed at the innocent. Aragorn had done nothing to warrant Frodo's mistrust except by being a member of the same Race, and he would be better to remember that.

The Ranger noticed him only moments after Frodo had the Man, and he bowed his head respectfully. "Master Frodo," he said in his deep voice, stopping where he stood to talk. "You appear to be on a mission of some sort this morning if the eagerness in your step is any indication."

The clock counting down the four hours was slowly passing, and Erebor was a vast place. There had been no stipulation on Bilbo's part about seeking help on finding out information, and maybe this could be an opportunity for both he and Aragorn to know each other a little better. "I'm on a quest," he said without thinking, his thoughts still on his uncle's Adventures. "Bilbo and I have wagered two mathoms and five helpings of mushrooms to see whether or not I can find out where our Party is being held." He stepped up closer to the Ranger, looking up and farther up still. So tall! If he had believed the ruffians who kidnapped him were giants, then Aragorn was a monolith. "What say you? Do you suppose you could help a helpless gentlehobbit find out some information?"

A smile tugged at Aragorn's mouth. "And you aren't going to ask me if I know where this surprise is?"

Frodo shook his head. "That would be cheating. And neither would it be much fun. It's like playing hide and seek in Brandy Hall—the fun is in the seeking, and the satisfaction is in the finding."

This response made the Ranger laugh, but it was not a mean-spirited sound; rather, it was much like the one Gandalf had given to Bilbo the other day. "I suppose the king under the mountain was right; I do have much to learn when it comes to conversing with a hobbit."

"I knew that Gandalf noticed me under Thorin's throne, but I didn't know if you'd known as well."

Aragorn knelt down, knowing how difficult it was for Frodo to keep on craning his neck. "I have been taught how to study my surroundings for over five decades, little one—and I am the chief of the Rangers. My cousin would never let me hear the end of it if he were to find out I missed spying a young hobbit lad in the shadows."

"Oh. Do all cousins feel they should be as annoying as possible, then? Does he live with you? Do you have any siblings?"

Amusement only growing, Aragorn shook his head. "I do believe that cousins are meant to make you laugh, and Halbarad does that often for me. A Ranger's life not an easy one, and we face many dangers to keep others safe, but he can wring a laugh out of anyone. We have no settled home, I'm afraid, unlike your settled Shire. And as to your last question, my father died in an Orc attack when I was very young—my mother never remarried before she died."

"You have no parents, either?"

Aragorn recalled that Frodo was an orphan almost shamefully late; why else would he be living with Bilbo, after all? But the halfling was studying him with a peculiar expression on his face now, not nearly as distrustful as he had been just a day or so prior, and he welcomed the change. "No," he said simply. "But I have one who is very like a father to me—much like it appears that you do, as well."

It was the right thing to say; a wide smile melted the rest of the ice from Frodo's expression as he nodded agreement. "Uncle is the best in all the Shire."

"Hmm. Gandalf appears to think so, and I'm beginning to see why." Aragorn stood again, motioning farther down the hall with a tilt of his head. "Shall we, Master Baggins?"

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The gold coins glistened in the low firelight from the mantle; the rooms were chilled, and Bilbo had lit a fire in the grating to fend it off. The coins were warm now from his holding them in his palm. "I suspect who it was," he said quietly. "But there is no proof I can conjure that will prove it."

Thorin, seated in the other chair, and Kili, standing beside the hearth, were both looking quite seriously at the old hobbit and the payment he held. The knowledge of the coins and what they meant had lingered with Bilbo for several weeks now, but it was only now that he had brought them out to light to discuss them. The Birthday was perhaps not the most ideal time to discuss such but he was glad that Frodo had not picked up on his underlying dour mood this morning. "And who is it that you suspect it was, Burglar?" Thorin asked gently.

"You must promise me you will not go tearing through the Shire in a vengeance, Thorin," Bilbo said sharply, looking up to meet his gaze. "Until or unless I can get to the bottom of it, this is merely speculation."

"Perhaps," Thorin replied darkly, "but there are times when threatening words work to draw a rat from its hole."

"That is Dwarvish custom and has no part in the lives of hobbit folk! We are a simple people and we do not deal in violence to settle such matters. If you and the Company come through the Shire causing an uproar and suspicion you will do much more harm than good—folk are already grumbling about letting anyone through the borders of the Shire, and your attempt to enact vengeance will merely cement this grumble into an all-out law."

"I concur, Bilbo." Kili glared fiercely at his uncle when Thorin turned to protest his intervention, halting the Dwarf-king before he could utter a word. "It's as Bilbo said so many years ago, Uncle—he is the head of the Baggins' clan. To intervene now is to undermine his placement as such, and therefore undermine his power in all else."

Thorin's expression cleared with a suddenness that was startling, but Kili's point was made. Hobbits were so simple in most regards that it was very ease to forget that there was still a very important structure within the borders of the Shire, and that—more importantly—he threatened Bilbo's own credibility to his clan. Taking a deep breath, he calmed his frustration and turned to Bilbo with much more peace. "You have my word as your friend and as the King under the mountain, Master Baggins, that I will not intercede on your investigation until or unless you give me permission to."

It was both an oath and a promise, and Bilbo nodded recognizing it as such. "Thank you, Thorin. My adopting Frodo put a stop to the plans of my kin the Sacksville-Baggins to inherit Bag End, and therefore the power of being the head of the Baggins' clan. My current suspicions fall onto them, as Frodo's disappearance would benefit them a great deal, but I will have to do a great deal of sneaking before I can confirm it. Otho and Lobelia are very good at covering their tracks."

Both of the Dwarves looked taken aback at the information, glancing at each other questioningly. "They are troublesome kin, then?"

Bilbo's short bark of laughter was answer enough. "Troublesome! Lobelia alone is a fair enough match for a dragon, and she is nowhere near as majestic as one. She and Otho looked to take over Bag End when I returned from my Adventures and they'd nearly succeeded too before I put a stop to it. Never did find all of my spoons after she got her hands on them."

Thorin puzzled over the reason why spoons being stolen would be so heinous a crime before deciding that the matter was, for the moment, laid to rest. "Keep us informed on how your investigation goes. It's a terrible thing when kin spy upon kin." When seeing Bilbo's answering nod of assent, he turned to Kili. "Wise words, nephew, and precisely what I needed to hear. Thank you."

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A/N: A year passes far too quickly. I didn't even realize I haven't updated this until I looked at updating it today since last April, but of course I tend to flit from fandom to fandom without warning and therefore I never know what I'm going to update or write next. I'd hoped to have the Birthday written and posted for the month it's celebrated in last year, but my grandpa died unexpectedly early in September and I had a hard time writing anything. I promise that the Birthday will be next chapter, and most of it is already written down so God willing I'll have an update up within a couple of weeks.

In the meantime, please let me know what you think so far!